


seeing double

by redhoodedwolf



Series: Stiles and Miles [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sterek!AU, Stilinski Twins, Teen!Derek, The twin AU you never knew you longed for, baseball player!derek, everyone else plays lacrosse, everyone is in the same grade yay, labaled as teen until i figure out what i want to do with this fic, twin!au, yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 17:37:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoodedwolf/pseuds/redhoodedwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he was six years old, Miles Stilinski asked his mother why she chose to give his twin brother a weird name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	seeing double

**Author's Note:**

> Twin AUs are a favorite of mine. This was inspired by this gifset: http://redhoodedwolf.tumblr.com/post/44717648844 and this: http://chadleymacguff.tumblr.com/post/36186802280/tw-au-meme-6-tropes-twin-brother-stiles  
> This is just the first part, but I wanted to post it before I got too caught up in other things. Now I have to finish this one lol  
> Cover art by theginger-and-theboyish on tumblr

When he was six years old, Miles Stilinski asked his mother why she chose to give his twin brother a weird name. Genim piped up from where he was sitting on the couch watching Rugrats reruns, saying, "Yeah, why don't our names match? Like Phil and Lil. They're twins too!"

Miles nodded his head enthusiastically. "Yeah! G-Genim doesn't rhyme with Miles at all!"

Their mother knelt down so she could talk to her sons face to face. "Your names don't have to rhyme, my darlings."

Genim pouted. "But I want them too. Mine's too hard to say," he wined, crossing his arms across his chest as a sign of defiance.

She smiled sweetly and asked, "What would you rather us call you? My father never liked his name, I don't expect you to either. You can have a nickname. We'll call you by that, if you'd like."

Miles grinned and tackled his brother off of the couch. There was a small tussle that ended with giggling all around, and had their mother barking out a laugh under a smothering hand.  

"Stiles!" Miles shouted triumphantly a moment later.

* * *

 

From that day, the Stilinski twins were known as Miles and Stiles, the troublesome duo of Beacon Hills.

Right before third grade, that duo became a trio when Stiles met Scott at the park. He had accidentally sat on Scott's imaginary friend, and decided to consol the boy by taking his place. Miles followed suit. Ms. McCall started talking to Mrs. Stilinski in apology for her son's odd habits, to which the other woman just laughed it off. Soon enough they were having Sunday brunch every week, sometimes including the sheriff, the twins' father, as well.

That was also the year that Lydia and the Martin family moved to Beacon Hills. As usual, the twins shared everything, including infatuations. They both fell madly in love with her the moment she walked into the classroom the first day and the boys simultaneously dropped their backpacks onto their feet.

One evening they got into a fight over who liked her more and who would sit next to her at lunch the next day. They had fought before, but never like this. It gained them both a time out after Miles shoved Stiles into the coffee table and Stiles retaliated by throwing his shoe at his brother, breaking the vase that was hit instead of the targeted head of his brother.

Their mother told them to make up, after smothering a laugh at the completely baffled look on her husband's face.

Turns out, Lydia had already been snatched up by the jerk face Jackson Whittemore, because when they went up to her the next day she barely batted an eyelash at them and moved past them as if they were invisible.

Scott consoled the twins by sharing the cosmic brownie his mother had packed in his lunch. They recovered quickly enough after that, though they both swore to their parents that evening over dinner that their love for her was still burning strong.

* * *

 

One month, two weeks, five days, and seventeen hours after the twins turned ten, their mother was officially diagnosed with terminal breast cancer.

She was a strong one, continuing to take the boys to school, and drove to Sunday brunch every week without fail. Until she became too weak to walk for long, she never let it show. She continued to smile bright for her family. Only the concerned looks the sheriff cast her and the loss of hair were the indications that something was off kilter.

Just before their eleventh birthday, she was fully admitted into the hospital. Ms. McCall was a godsend to the Stilinskis', watching over their mother at work as a nurse at the hospital, and letting Stiles and Miles come home with Scott almost every day, because their father was working double shifts to pay for his wife's medical bills. And when he wasn't working, he was at the hospital, next to her bed, holding her fragile hand in his, barely suppressing tears.

On a bright Wednesday afternoon, Melissa McCall sped into the elementary school parking lot and walked as quickly as she could to the fourth grade classroom.

"Mom!" Scott shouted as his mother materialized at the classroom door and waved excitedly.

Their teacher furrowed her brows in confusion at the look of worry in the woman's face. Miles clutched Stiles' arm and they shared a look. "No," they mumbled together.

Stiles was the first to come to and jumped up from his seat in the circle the students were sitting in, and bolted for his best friend's mother. Miles was right on his heels. She collected them into her arms in a tight embrace.

"Come on you two, it's time to say goodbye."

Scott sat by helplessly as his mother ushered the twins from the room, and his teacher assured him that she would be back to pick him up, like always.

"What's up with the dork twins?" Jackson asked, eyes narrowed in jealousy, wishing he could leave school early.

That was the first time Scott had ever punched someone, and the time out was definitely worth it.

* * *

 

When they arrived at the hospital, the twins finally detached themselves from Ms. McCall, only to reattach to the bed where their mother lay, eyes fluttering with the urge to close permanently.

"Mom..." Miles sobbed, forehead dropping to the bed, letting the white sheets soak up his tears.

Stiles' bottom lip wobbled, and his father placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, the man holding back tears as well as he could.

"No, shhh my darlings, don't cry for me," their mother breathed, voice wavering from difficulty breathing. "It'll be okay, I'm here, I'm still here, I'll always be here."

"No you won't!" Stiles yelled as he collapsed next to his brother. The sheriff sucked in a shuddering breath as he stared down at the woman he loved.

"I will, I promise I will," she responded, voice as soft as always. She lifted a weak hand and carded her fingers through Stiles' hair.

"I love you. My boys, my Stilinski men."

Moments later, when her hand went limp, and the machine next to her bed flat lined, Mr. Stilinski finally let himself cry.

* * *

 

A week after the funeral, Stiles and Miles went for their hair appointment at the barber shop with their father. A buzz cut, Stiles requested, as he tugged at the strands of his hair like he could pull it out with sheer force of will. Without his longer hair, maybe it would stop the ghost feeling of his dead mother's fingers on his head.

Miles gave him a knowing look, and their father said nothing. He hadn't said much recently anyways, so it wasn't much of a surprise.

It wasn't only the Stilinskis who were taking the death hard, the entire town was. Mrs. Stilinski had many friends, and was involved in many community activities. She worked as a librarian most days, but she also volunteered at the hospital (where she originally met Melissa). Many people had shown up for her funeral service, more than expected, and even more at their doorstep to provide meals for them in consolation.

The sheriff threw himself into his work, only stopping to take care of his sons, and hardly to take care of himself. The twins would reheat the frozen casserole delivery of the week in the oven, and wrap the extra up for their father when he would get home. Then the locked themselves in their room and help each other with homework.

They pretended not to hear the sounds of their father fumbling around in the kitchen when they got home, of him opening up the liquor cabinet and downing glass after glass.

Until Melissa found out this nightly routine, it continued like this for over a year. By the time she snapped him out of it, Miles and Stiles had learned enough about how to take care of themselves.

It was a long while before their father could look either of them in the eye, and when he finally did, he burst into tears. Things weren't so bad after that.

* * *

 

Years passed like this, in simple contentment. The boys missed their mother like crazy, but the ache was turning into a dull roar in the background that they could sometimes forget about. As time went on, it got easier to bear.

The twins grew into themselves, losing the last of their baby fat, and gaining muscle. Stiles kept his hair shaved, Miles let his grow out a bit. Other than that, they were so identical it was a bit scary.

By looks, that is. They got along well, hardly fought, but their personalities differed enough to be noticeable.

Miles fell into the "hipster" crowd. He wore beanies religiously and if he wasn't wearing a button down or vintage shirt, it had to be laundry day. His clothes stuck to his skin, showing off the muscles underneath (well, what muscles he had at the time that is). Skinny jeans became the majority of his clothing choices. He was proud of who he was, not very self conscious. He knew what he looked like and wasn't afraid to accentuate the positives.

Stiles liked plaid, like a lot. Miles assumed he wore it just because it was offending to his eyes, but Stiles swore in his grave that he liked it for comfort. Graphic tees and baggy jeans, topped with a hoodie. He also had a blazer jacket that he adored and wore with the occasional polo. He didn't flaunt himself as much as his brother did. He knew what he looked like, he knew he was a relatively attractive, but the fact that he only had two friends, and one was his brother, didn't give him much confidence.

Miles' favorite color was purple.

Stiles' favorite color was red.

The day Miles came home from the mall sporting thick black rimmed glasses, Stiles laughed so hard his stomach hurt.

"You- you _dude_ ," he wheezed. "Really?"

"What?" Miles asked, lip jutted out in a pout, "They make me look hot."

Stiles just rolled his eyes. "Alright man, whatever you say."

Stiles ate his words the next week when they started back at Beacon Hills High after winter break, and Miles got a girl's phone number before first period started.

As she walked back down the hall, Miles stared at the slip of paper in his hands, dumbfounded. "Did that really just happen?"

"Have I actually understood..." Stiles murmured under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing, never mind. It's a reference. Anyways, good for you, bro!"

Miles grinned. "Told you the glasses would work. Hey, don't fret lil bro, maybe she has a hot friend?"

"I'm older than you!" Stiles protested. "By four minutes!"

Miles patted his head. "Yes, but I'm taller."

"It's the hair!" Stiles protested, but he was talking to dead air. Miles was already down the hallway, laughter echoing after him. Stiles sighed heavily and grumbled as he slung his backpack over his shoulder.

Scott, stealthy as ever, popped up at his right as he rounded the corner. "How's it going, dude?"

"Miles just got some girl's number. Can you believe that?" Stiles grumbled.

Scott raised a brow. "Good for him! Does that bother you?"

Stiles shrugged. "A little, I mean, we're practically the same person, why him?" he asked as he took his seat in the classroom. Scott sat next to him and chuckled.

"You are so not the same person. You're identical, sure, but that's it man. And besides, I thought you were into du-"

"Shhh!" Stiles snapped, eying the students around him. Scott just rolled his eyes.

"It's not some big secret, Stiles. We're pretty accepting here, no need to closet yourself."

Stiles rubbed a hand over his head. "Yeah, yeah I know. I'd just rather I tell my family first, not let them hear it through rumors."

Scott balked at him. "I thought you were going to tell them over New Years! You told me you had it covered, dude."

"I was," Stiles muttered, "But the time wasn't right. Or something."

The bell rang and their teacher quieted them all with a glare. Scott sighed and said, "Whatever man, we're taking more about this later."

Doubtful, Stiles thought. Ever since Ms. Allison Argent graced their school's presence earlier that year, Scott had been pining after her ever since. By lunch, the next time they saw each other, he would be on a whole other cloud.

* * *

 

True to form, Scott spent the majority of lunch mooning over Allison. Miles, lunch tray and all, thumped himself down into his seat across from Scott and laughed, saying, "Dude, you're drooling."

"Wu-huh? Oh." Scott hastily wiped at his mouth. Stiles rolled his eyes.

"He was kidding," Stiles explained, elbowing Miles who was still laughing.

"Not cool," Scott moaned.

"No, what's not cool is thinking you could get with a girl that spends time with Jackson Douchemore."

Instead of gaining a glare, like Miles thought he would, Scott beamed and sat up straighter, a sure sign that he thought of something that's probably going to kill them all.

"Speaking of which! We are going to try out for lacrosse and actually make the team this year." Scott slapped the table like that ended the discussion.

Stiles scoffed. "Yeah dude, good luck with that."

Scott ducked his head. "Hey, come on, I think I could do it this year! I've been training all since last season."

"You have asthma," Stiles said, the same moment that Miles answered, "Yeah, maybe you will make it. I know I'm trying this year too."

Stiles stared at the both of them in stunned silence. "Well, he mumbled, you two can kill yourselves, I'll be sitting bench this year and _not_ dying."

"Aw, come on Stiles," Miles moaned. "I gotta have my big brother out there with me! Besides, girls love jocks!"

Scott choked on his milk.

Stiles glared Scott into submission. "I'm still trying out," he protested, "I'm just not getting my hopes up because I know I won't make first line.

"You, however," he continued, poking Miles in the arm, "Definitely will."

Miles grinned and stated, "It's official, Scott and I are making first line this year for girlfriends sakes, and you will remain in a relationship with the bench."

"And I am perfectly happy with that," Stiles stated, raising his milk carton in a mock toast.

* * *

 

Tryouts were the next day after school. Scott was bouncing with nervous energy, mostly because he overheard Lydia and Allison discussing that they were coming to watch.

Ah Lydia, Stiles thought, the love of his life. Unrequited, of course. And odd now, considering he's pretty sure dicks interest him way more than she does. None the less, her name still sends his hear a flutter.

And Miles', too, but he now had a female admirer (who he had yet to call yet, because, "Yeah, but Stiles, what if it's a fake number? What if it's actually to like a pizza place or something? Or what if it is her, and I call and she thinks I'm too desperate calling the same night, or-") so maybe not so much.

"Alright, cupcakes!" Coach Finstock yelled through the locker room. "On the field in two!"

Miles grinned and thumped Stiles on the back. "This is it man! You excited?"

"Thrilled," Stiles drawled monotonously.

They started off with suicide runs. Finstock is truly insane, Stiles has come to this conclusion. And so is Jackson, who he _know_ tripped him on purpose.

After, he had them rush the net. Danny situated himself in the middle of the goal to block any and all attempts to get one past.

Stiles admitted he was wrong about Scott when he, up second in line, was able to almost trick up Danny. He didn't get any praise from Coach, but he didn't get a sneer, which was good enough for him.

The ball sailed in when Jackson was up, and went just wide with Greenburg, which had Coach off on how much of a bumbling idiot the teen was.

Miles was up next; he seemed nervous, but he concentrated and was able to score one on Danny as well. He stuck his tongue out at Jackson as he walked past and high fived Scott and Stiles.

Stiles missed, not a surprise.

"Come on Stilinski! Take after your brother here and work. Harder!"

"Yes Coach," Stiles mumbled.

After they ran that drill a few more times, Finstock split them up into two teams. Scott was stuck in as goalie for Jackson's team, and Danny was in for Miles'. Stiles was with his brother, mostly because Finstock was too lazy to learn their individual names, just their jerseys, so he called them as one 'Stilinski'.

The scrimmage left Stiles battered and bruised and out of breath. Scott didn't look too much better, even though he was kept in the goal. Stiles still grabbed the emergency inhaler he kept in his bag that was sitting on the bench, and tossed it to him.

Miles looked happy, but tired as Coach Finstock rounded them all up into a huddle. His pep talk was less peppy, and more shout-y. They all put their hands in the middle before he dismissed them, and their shout of "One, two, three, Cyclones!" echoed through the field.

As they were dismissed back to the locker room, Stiles' eyes drifted over to the baseball field next to theirs. The men's baseball team must have been having tryouts too, because guys were lined up by the pitcher's mound, gloves in hand.

He found his gaze stuck to one of the players he didn't recognize. Stiles will be the first to admit he doesn't know everyone in the school, but he had become pretty accustomed to all of the new faces over the last two years. This one, though, was too new. He looked older than a freshman, but he could either be in Stiles' year or a junior. He assumed no senior would switch schools voluntarily for their last semester of high school.

"Stiles! Come on, man! I wanna get home before Dad."

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Stiles replied, tearing his gaze from the guy and jogging to catch up to his brother.

* * *

 

"Dude, is there a new kid this semester?" Stiles asked Scott the next day when they met up at his locker.

"I think so?"

"Yeah, Derek Hale," Miles responded, coming up behind Stiles, causing his twin to jump, startled.

"Is he a junior?" Scott asks.

Miles shakes his head. "No, sophomore, like us. He takes classes with mostly  juniors though, because his old school curriculum was a year ahead of ours."

"How do you know this?" Stiles asked, brow raised.

Miles blushed just as a blonde came up behind him and took his arm. "Morning Miles. Oh hey, you're Stiles. And Scott, right?"

Scott blinked. "Um."

Stiles smiled to diffuse the awkward tension. "Yep, that's us. You're Erica, right?"

Erica's flush matched his brother's. "Yep."

"She's my insider for the Hale Scoop," Miles explained.

Erica nodded. "Yeah, he's in a few of my classes. And Principal Argent had me show him around yesterday. He's nice, but... quiet."

Scott shrugged, and that seemed enough for him.

"Well, nice meeting you Erica. Feel free to sit with us at lunch. Scott and I have to head to class."

Stiles shoved Scott's shoulder to get him moving, and threw a wink over his shoulder at his brother, who flicked him the finger in response. Stiles just laughed.

As soon as they took their seats, Scott was up in Stiles' space, asking, "Do you like Derek?"

Stiles blinked, shaking his head in surprise. "What? No, why would you say that?"

Scott shrugged. "You asked if there was a new kid, seemed like you'd met him before."

"No, I just saw someone I didn't know on the baseball field after tryouts yesterday and was curious," Stiles defended himself.

Scott smirked. "You never 'just see' someone, Stiles. You stare and plan a wedding."

Stiles pushed Scott away from him. "Shove off, man, I'm serious. I don't know him."

"You will now."

"What? No I won't. He-"

Scott gestured to the front of the room where Derek was standing, listening to the teacher as she spoke to him. She pointed at the desk in front of Stiles which, huh, was the only empty seat in the room.

Perfect.

"Say anything," Stiles said in a hushed tone, "And I'll make sure you never get Allison's number."

That shut Scott up. Not surprisingly, it didn't make Stiles feel much better.

Derek took his seat and stretched his back against the chair, effectively leaning into Stiles' space. Stiles got a whiff of his cologne, which smelled slightly earthy but also something sweet- chocolate maybe.

His eyes snapped open instantly when he realized what was happening. And extremely attractive guy was now his classmate and smelled really, really good, who probably didn't have many friends, possibly prompting him to ask Stiles for notes if he ever misses class, and maybe asking for help as a tutor if he ever needed it, and how cold Stiles ever say no to those _eyes_ -

That were glaring directly at him. Shit.

"Could you please dislodge your book from my back?"

Stiles looked down, and his crossed arms had pushed the large textbook on his desk, corner first, right into Derek's back. He flailed, moving the book and almost knocking his pencil from his desk. "Sorry! Sorry, my bad dude."

Derek just huffed in response and turned away. Stiles released out a breath of relief.

"Smooth," Scott whispered.

Stiles smacked him with his notebook, attracting the attention of the teacher.

He got detention. Still worth it.

* * *

 

"You tell your brother yet?" Scott asked as they sat down at lunch.

Stiles' eyes skirted around the cafeteria, but Miles and Erica were still in line for their food, so he was safe.

"No, Scott. I can't just blurt it out over dinner, this is something that has to be said... at the right-"

"Time, yeah, I know. What are you so worried about? You think they won't accept you?"

Stiles ducked his head to hide his blush. Scott sighed and continued, saying, "Dude, you know that won't happen. Miles is the nicest guy ever. And you dad won't care, you know that."

"That's not very reassuring," Stiles mumbled.

"I'm not going to force you out, Stiles, just know that you should say something soon."

"Hey guys!" Miles greeted as soon as Scott finished talking. Stiles bit into his sandwich to avoid any looks Scott would give him.

"Hey bro, Erica," Stiles greeted with a small smile, breaking the silent tension, and opening the floodgates for Miles to start talking about the History test he took last period.

After school was lacrosse, and the day Coach was announcing those who would be playing first line.

"Captain: Whittemore."

Not a surprise.

Finstock went down the line of names. Greenburg was called, then given a stern warning, before he shouted, "McCall! If you have an asthma attack on me I'll shoot your hide, but you're in." Scott grinned and Stiles and Miles both gave him a high five.

"Stilinski!" The twins' heads both shot up and the coach rolled his eyes. "You're first line, congrats."

"Which one?"

"Which one?"

They both asked. Finstock grumbled, consulting his list before saying, "Miles, yeah. You, good job."

Miles' grin almost broke his face. Stiles expected he was benched, so he wasn't _too_ disappointed. He was happy for his brother and Scott, though. "Lucky ducks. Maybe Allison will notice you now," he said to Scott with a wink.

Scott snorted. "You bet your ass she will. Now come on! I wanna get to practice!"

Stiles was hulled up from the bench by both Scott and Miles and shoved in front of them out of the locker room.

As soon as they gathered onto the field, Stiles' eyes snapped to the baseball field where the team was lined up in a scrimmage. A familiar guy was pitching, and it took Stiles a moment to realize that was Derek. He watched the way the muscles in his arms shifted as he threw the curveball, and the instep. Damn, baseball pants look good on him.

It was then that Derek's gaze snapped over to them and Stiles swore he was staring right at him. He ducked his head and shook it, forcing his brain to focus on the task at hand. Lacrosse, not baseball. Come on man.

He dutifully ignored the looks Scott was shooting him.

Another practice, another beating. Though he did get to see Jackson get tackled to the ground, and _that_ was enough to make this whole thing worthwhile.

Coach dismissed them, and the three of them filed into the locker room, showered, and changed. Miles and Stiles said goodbye to Scott as he jogged over to the bike rack to head home.

The twins shared their mom's old baby blue Jeep Wrangler. She was old, but the boys loved her. When their father handed them each a set of keys, the smile he gave them as well might have been a bit watery, but neither boy said anything as they shared a group hug.

Stiles snatched the keys from Miles grip as they walked side-by-side to the parking lot. When Miles opened his mouth to protest, Stiles cut him off. "Nu-uh, you're on a happy high. I'm driving. You may get too excited and crash us. I'm not taking that chance." Miles pouted but accepted his fate.

"Stilinski!"

Both boys whipped around at the call. Stiles swallowed thickly when he realized who it was that was calling them, and it was none other than Derek Hale. Oh boy.

"Um, both of us?" Miles asked, just as confused as Stiles was.

Derek blinked, seeming to realize that they weren't both his target. He looked back and forth between them for one, two seconds before pointing at Stiles and saying, "You."

Miles raised a brow but Stiles shook his head. "I'll be right there." He tossed him the keys. "Warm up the Jeep, and I swear if you put on any of your shitty music-"

"No promises," Miles called, already halfway to the vehicle.

Stiles sighed and took his chances by looking up at Derek. He was still in his uniform, and his hair was slicked against his forehead from sweat. His bag was sling across his shoulder, bat sticking out of one end. His face was flushed from exertion, Stiles assumed, and it really brought out his eyes.

Stiles cleared his throat. "Can I help you?"

Derek looked nervous then, for just a moment. "I, uh, heard you and McCall talking at lunch."

Stiles went white as a sheet. Oh no, Derek was homophobic. He might as well just fall to the ground and accept any beating he was going to have inflicted upon him.

Derek must have noticed his worry and quickly added, "No, no, I don't, I'm not going to beat you up, or anything. I don't care. Wait, no, I care, well-" He pinched the bridge of his nose and started over. "You should tell them, your family."

Stiles sighed. "A lot easier said than done, dude."

Derek shook his head. "It seems like it is, until you do it. A huge weight is lifted off of you and you'll feel ten times better about yourself. Don't keep putting it off, it just gets harder that way."

"Sounds like you know... from experience?" Stiles asked hesitantly.

Derek didn't even try to deny the claim, just nodded. "Yeah, I do. Do it soon, before they're not around anymore for you to tell."

Derek chose that moment to make his exit. But before he could, Stiles shot out an arm and grabbed his. He took a second to himself to redirect his thoughts so they didn't all revolve around Derek's muscle. "Who isn't here for you to tell?"

Derek stared at his hand, then his gaze slid up, pausing at Stiles' lips momentarily before meeting his eyes. Stiles almost missed his answer. "Almost everyone."

Stiles released him, and Derek nodded, avoiding his eyes, and walked over to a shiny black Camaro. Stiles watched as he slid into the front seat, started the car and drove away.

He let a shiver run down his spine, before walking over to the Jeep to pretend he wasn't going to go straight into the shower when he gets home for some quality time with his hand.

"What was that?" Miles asked as Stiles pulled out of the school.

"That was Derek, the new guy? He's in my first period, he just had a question about class," Stiles lied.

Miles gave him a look like he knew that wasn't true, but simply shrugged in response and started chattering away about how he had finally texted Erica last night.

Stiles tried to listen, but Derek's words just circled round and round in his head. What did he mean by not being able to tell everyone? Or almost everyone. He wondered if Derek had trouble coming out to his family too, and that's why he stopped Stiles and told him to do it sooner rather than later.

He didn't even realize until Miles called his name that he had driven them home, and he was just sitting there. He shook his head and climbed out, grabbing his bag and bolting into the house.

* * *

 

Stiles, even hours later, couldn't seem to get it out of his head. He swirled the spaghetti with his fork absentmindedly as he listened to Miles tell his father about practice.

Before he knew what was happening, his mouth betrayed him. "I think I'm gay."

His father's fork clattered down onto his plate and Miles choked on his drink. They both stared at Stiles with wide eyes.

Stiles couldn't even believe himself. He slapped a hand over his mouth. Scott was right, he mused to himself over his inner panic, you could just blurt it out over dinner.

Miles was the first one to break the silence. "Stiles? What... do you mean?"

Stiles sighed and ran a hand over his head. "I mean I'm pretty sure I prefer dicks over vaginas and I thought you both should know. That. Um." He coughed.

The sheriff had never looked so surprised. "What about Lydia Martin? I thought you were both in love with her still?"

"I am," the twins chorused.

Mr. Stilinski looked even more confused, if that was possible.

"Look," Stiles said, "I'm sorry if you hate me but this is who I am, and Lydia is a lovely girl, but she's just... not it for me."

He ducked his head and tried to finish his meal in silence, but Miles would have none of it, it seemed.

"Is that why Derek came up to you after practice today? How does he know before me?" Miles looked hurt. "I'm your brother, Stiles, we have identical DNA, how could you not tell me this?"

Stiles groaned and thumped his head onto the table.

"Derek? As in Derek Hale?" their father asked? "The one who lives with his uncle and sister in that house in the woods, that Derek?"

"That's the one," Stiles mumbled into the table.

"So you did tell him!" Miles shouted.

"No! No, I- gah, I told Scott, okay? And he only knows because it was 3 am and I was sleep deprived and it slipped out. And he and I were talking at lunch before you and Erica came over and I guess Derek overheard."

"Did he threaten you? I won't tolerate that kind of bullying in my county," Mr. Stilinski said, voice stern.

"No, nothing like that. He just told me to tell you guys before the guilt becomes too much. Or before I lose the chance to tell my family, like he did. or something. He was being kinda cryptic about it, actually."

Stiles stared down at his food while Miles stared at the look on his father's face. "What?" he asked. "What is it?"

Sheriff sighed and ran a hand over his face, suddenly feeling very tired. "Derek's family was killed in a house fire two years ago. He and his sister were at school when their house caught fire. Ten people died, only their uncle was able to get out. They moved here because the place they're staying is on old property of theirs that they bought back from the county."

"Jesus," Miles breathed. Suddenly, Stiles was feeling a lot worse.

"Stiles," his father addressed him, "We love you no matter what. Date whomever, I don't care, neither of us do. And your mom-" he choked on his words, like always when including her in conversation, "She believed in equality. She wouldn't have cared either, she loved the both of you, no matter who you love. Got it?"

The brothers both nodded and their father reciprocated. "Now," he said, head turning to face Miles, "Who is this Erica. hm?"

And that was that. The dinner continued as normal, Stiles spilling all he knew about Erica to his father, and Miles blushing like crazy.

* * *

 

Later that night, while the twins were playing videogames, Stiles broke and asked, "Can you see if Erica has Derek's phone number? I wanna thank him."

Miles winked at him, replying as he paused the game, "Oh, that's all? Thank him how?"

"Oh shut up. Just ask, would you?"

Miles laughed, but did as he was told. A minute later, Stiles' phone lit up with Erica's forwarded message, and he thanked his brother, before saving the number and opening up a fresh text.

_TO: DERKE HALE  
Hi, Derek. This is Stiles. Stilinski. Erica gave me your number. I just wanted to say thank you. Your advice really helped. I appreciate it._

Stiles pretended to not spend the entire night waiting for a response after he sent it.

* * *

 

Stiles woke up the next day at the sound of their alarm going off. He groaned and rolled over, slapping at the bedside table to shut it off. He hit his phone instead, and the screen lit up, showing he had one new message.

He flailed a bit, sitting up and grabbing it before his brother could make fun of his eagerness.

_FROM: DEREK HALE  
You're welcome. _

When Miles asked what he was grinning at he just shook his head wordlessly, biting his tongue.

"And turn off the alarm. It's Saturday, you douchebag."


End file.
